


Death is a Constant Companion

by rivlee



Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-05
Updated: 2013-02-05
Packaged: 2017-11-28 13:19:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/674837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivlee/pseuds/rivlee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gannicus carries some ghosts with him always. Spoilers through episode seven of <i>Vengeance</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Death is a Constant Companion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pameluke](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pameluke/gifts).



> For Jan who required "Mourn Me" on the tumblr drabble prompts.

Gannicus was never one to curse or revere the gods, any gods, be it those the Romans venerated or the deities from his childhood, carried only in memory. Standing in the dusty streets of Capua, looking into the bloodied face of Marcia as she hung on the cross, he was left to wonder if the gods were real and what he had done to earn their hatred. 

First there was Epona, his beautiful sister who took on the task of raising her unruly demon of a baby brother. She was life, in all its glory and pain. He well remembered those warm eyes and small smiles; they brought comfort in uncertain times. She held him on the journey across the waters, traveling from their homeland to a new life, a new start, among her husband’s clan. A fever took hold on the journey and Gannicus, still a boy, wept at her bedside as life left her with one final harsh, rattling, breath. 

Melitta was unexpected, unlooked for, and at first unwanted. Gannicus had no true family in the ludus, save Oenomaus, and he would not seek to betray the one man he truly called his brother. Melitta was a death, a loss, a wound that remained forever festered. No amount of water or wine would wash her blood from his hands. He carried the weight of her death and the guilt of his cause in it. Freedom was no gift for a man who had little to live for; what goals could he seek, what love could he find, when its ashes were carried on the winds in Capua? No amount of fighting or coin could bring redemption for the truly damned. 

There were bright spots though, people and moments who reminded Gannicus of a life before, when happiness was a regular companion and laughter occurred with joy, not sadness. Attius reminded him of the best times with Oenomaus, though he didn’t trust the Roman fuck with his life or coin. He was a friend, not a brother, and Gannicus would never find a replacement for such a loss. 

Not that he deserved such reprieve. Gannicus did not regret loving Melitta, nor did he regret loving Oenomaus; his only regrets were for the lies that passed between all of them. It was too late to seek forgiveness now. He returned to Capua only to see Oenomaus to an honorable death; that one thing he could do for the man who had given him so much. Oenomaus was champion, already a gladiator of reputation, skill, and substance, when Gannicus came stumbling into the ludus. He could’ve left Gannicus to fumble off cliffs or easily die with lessons from less patient men. Instead he saw something to cherish, to save, and to find worthy in the foul-mouthed Celtic boy with little skill and a mocking laugh. 

Those were the memories that haunted Gannicus when no amount of fighting, fucking, or drink would see him to sleep.

Marcia was the brightest spot in recent years. She remained hopeful for a better life even when all around her went to piss and shit. Gannicus had never sought to protect the naïve, but he couldn’t diminish the light in her when she found something new to discover. She was a clever young woman, an important thing in her profession yet dangerous for all the vipers in that particular pit. 

Marcia still dreamed; something Gannicus had given up on over five years before their paths crossed. She should be alive now, sharing his wine as she listened to tales of the outside world. Instead the clever girl came to an agonizing end, dying nailed to a cross for daring to dream of freedom and uttering one man’s name.

Gannicus would carry the weight of her death and memory like he did Melitta’s. If he had not spoken, if he had not acted, perhaps she would still be safe. He had a hand in her end; he would not see more like her fall for a fucking fool’s _ideal_.


End file.
